


better late than never (just don't make me wait forever)

by vaguelyfamiliar



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, An Unnecessary Multitude of Bar/Club Settings In Only So Many Words of Fanfiction, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Rest In Peace Conor Sheary He's Not Dead He's Just a Sabre Now, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelyfamiliar/pseuds/vaguelyfamiliar
Summary: He thinks about all the times Geno’s mentioned in passing that he was going on a date, all the times he’s tried to cover up obvious hickeys in the dressing room. All along, it was men he was seeing, men leaving marks on him. Sid’s mind is whirring again at the thought that this entire time, Geno was just walking around, liking guys.Sid is a guy, he thinks wildly.





	better late than never (just don't make me wait forever)

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the Penguins’ first preseason game of the 2018-19 season today, here’s a fic that takes place at the beginning of...the 2017-18 season, lol. Or rather, a fictional season that resembles 2017-18, but with some altered game dates and results you don’t need to pay much attention to. 
> 
> Writing this fic for me was basically a study in jealousy. I wanted to subvert the way that jealousy and possessiveness is too often written in fanfic: as something to be desired, a sign of passion, something cute, rather than the sign of insecurity and ego it often actually is in real life. However, jealousy is also a normal human emotion that we all experience, and it can be useful in terms of helping us figure out what we want. Follow along as I try to walk the precarious line between romanticizing it and condemning it.
> 
> The relevance of real-world homophobia in this is one big handwave. The implication is that gay characters in this fic are openly gay among their teammates (a space somehow not homophobic), but not out to the larger world (a space somehow still homophobic). Don’t ask me how they hook up with dudes as blatantly as they do in this fic without the public catching wind!!! 
> 
> Additionally, real-life girlfriends/wives/partners/children are removed from this work, a work of absolute fiction. If you or someone you know is heavily connected to the NHL or the Pittsburgh Penguins, do not read or share this page.
> 
> Title from Tame Impala’s banger _The Less I Know The Better_ , which is pretty thematic. Links to real-life events referenced in this fic are provided in the end notes, so you don't have to go looking yourself. Big thank you to [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70) for beta reading this at the drop of a hat when I needed it looked over but I wanted to post in a matter of hours.

The combined forces of extensive media training, exposure to rowdy teammates, and years of experience in an environment as paradoxical as the NHL have made Sid pretty hard to surprise. The famed adage of expecting the unexpected is old hat to Sid at this point in his life. There have been too many situations in which Sid has had to react well in public at a moment’s notice. He’s just had too much practice, enough lessons learned the hard way.

Like when Jack had run around asking girls on camera if they would date Sid. Or when Giroux got fractured wrists and somehow that was Sid’s fault. Or when he’d done that round table interview and he’d had to talk for an extended period of minutes about what it would hypothetically be like to have a hypothetically gay player come out on his team, with each of his infinitesimal facial tics recorded, posted, and overanalyzed on YouTube forevermore.

He’s been through some wild shit, is all.

They’re on the plane for the season’s first road trip when Geno drops down in the seat next to him. Sid is, of course, not surprised—it’s the first time the team’s travelled without Flower on a permanent basis, the first time the seat next to Sid has been truly up for grabs. It makes sense that Geno’s decided he’ll be the one to keep Sid company, even though he would probably rather be playing cards in the back with Phil and Tanger.

“Hey, bud,” Sid smiles, to let Geno know that he’s welcome and appreciated. Geno bumps their elbows together in acknowledgement, then pops in his headphones to listen to something. The rest of the flight passes companionably, and Sid only thinks once briefly about how weird it is not to hear Flower’s snores from the seat beside him.

It’s easy, nice, predictable. There’s probably not much Geno could do to shock Sid.

Or at least, this is what he’d once thought. The first time Geno truly takes him by surprise, well. It goes pretty poorly, one could say.

Unfortunately, it happens like this:

The team is celebrating their first win of the season in some dive bar in Nashville, and they’re in generally good spirits. Hags has convinced Dumo to bust out some frankly embarrassing dance moves, while Guentzy whoops from the sideline. They had all sat down and opened a tab before realizing that it was apparently karaoke night, so some wannabe who’s probably not actually from Tennessee is wailing _Achy Breaky Heart_ into the microphone, outfit complete with cowboy hat and all. They’re a lot worse than whoever was onstage before them.

Sid watches this unfold from a booth occupied by just him, Olli, and Geno. Olli recently broke up with his girlfriend, so the two of them are having a really earnest conversation about the difficulties of maintaining a relationship with all the travel they do. Sid is mainly just paying attention to where the male bartender is throwing shy smiles and coy glances over the bar at Shears, who appears not to notice at all. Sid wonders if any of his teammates would notice a guy interested in them without having to be told. Straight people can be really clueless, but that’s probably just as well.

Ironically, it happens just as he’s had that thought. He’s observing this poor bartender’s plight: Shears is joking with him, telling a story complete with hand gestures, and the man behind the bar looks like he might melt into a puddle of adoration before he even finishes making Shears’ drink. Sid sucks in a huge, commiserative gulp of his IPA.

Muzz appears at Sid’s shoulder before he can even swallow. “Hey Sid, I think I’m gonna head out—”

“Even more hard because I’m gay, so hard meet people,” Geno says to Olli then, and Muzz’s face receives the full brunt of Sid’s literal spit-take.

“You just spat that all over me,” Muzz points out, like Sid wasn’t party to the whole thing as well. “Okay, I’m really leaving now.”

Sid can’t even answer him. He turns frantically back to Geno and Olli, whose conversation is just continuing like no one’s said anything out of the ordinary, Olli nodding along solemnly as Geno says something about not liking to talk on the phone. “ _What?_ " Sid squeaks.

“I’m not like to talk by phone,” Geno repeats.

“Not that,” Sid shakes his head. “The thing—the part before that.”

“Oh!” Geno nods. “Just say, already hard to date when hockey player, even more hard when I’m gay. It’s same for you, no?”

He says it so casually, like it’s something everyone at the table already knows. “Yeah, but...what do you mean, you’re gay?” Sid must be interpreting this wrong. Geno must be talking about Sid, or speaking hypothetically in general, or—

Geno’s eyebrows scrunch up. “You know,” he says slowly, as if talking to someone who may be concussed or amnestic. Sid’s been both before.

“I do _not_ know,” Sid says emphatically. He tries to make bewildered eye contact with Olli, but Olli is already making bewildered eye contact with Geno.

“Sid, is joke? We have conversation years ago. I’m only like men.”

 _No, you don’t_ , Sid almost says, bizarrely, because he can’t exactly tell Geno what his own sexuality is, but. Sid has played with Geno for eleven years. They are in their fucking thirties, if just barely. Geno has never once made reference to being anything other than pin straight, not through any of the hours, years they’ve spent in each other’s pockets. “That is such a lie, when? You never said that to me.”

Geno shrugs. “Was like, five or six years? I’m tell whole team, but you out for head first time, not skate, not practice. So I’m come over to Mario’s, tell you too. You say ‘ok Geno’ and that’s all.”

“I don’t fucking remember that!” He doesn’t mean to sound angry, but his voice is rising from the shock, and the frustration at Geno’s insistence that Sid had taken part in this entire exchange with some sort of agency when actually he’d either been too whacked out on meds to process anything or just forgotten the whole thing because of the poor short-term memory he’d struggled with at the time.

No one says anything after that. Geno is just shrugging repeatedly at intervals of a few seconds, and Olli has suddenly become incredibly interested in the ongoing karaoke disaster. “Look, my bad,” Sid tries to regroup finally. “I don’t mean to get bothered about it. I just had no idea.” With that, he stands, mumbles an excuse, and disappears after Muzz.

 

\---

 

That night, Sid tosses and turns and doesn’t sleep a wink. When the sun comes up again, he does the only thing he can think to do. He calls Flower.

“Miss me already?” Flower answers the phone, which is dumb because it’s not like this is the first time Sid has called Flower since he left Pittsburgh for the last time.

“Geno is gay,” Sid blows by the niceties.

“Okay, yes,” Flower agrees. “This is not news,” he says, then waits a bit for Sid to agree with him in turn. Sid stays silent. “Is this...news to you, Sid?”

“Yeah, front page,” Sid confirms. Flower emits a weird, high-pitched humming noise, but doesn’t comment further. Sid continues, “So it’s true then, that everyone knew but me? And if I called Duper or Kuni, they’d say the same thing?”

“Yep, uh, sorry,” Flower says. “It never occurred to me you didn’t know. Back then, when he came out, we all knew you weren’t there, concussion and stuff. But I thought he went straight to Mario’s to tell you too.”

“Well, _allegedly_ ,” Sid gripes. “I don’t remember it at all.”

“Then, surprise! Geno’s gay. I can’t believe you didn’t know this entire time.”

“Me neither,” groans Sid.

There’s a pause, and then Flower asks, “Well, now you know, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Do about it? There’s nothing I can do.”

“Come on Sid, all this actually makes a lot of sense.” There’s a noise like Flower shifts the phone from one ear to the other, and then there’s some mumbled French in the background. Sid pictures him out in the new living room in Vegas that he’s only seen pictures of, holding the phone in one hand and maybe wrangling one of his daughters in the other. “And now that you know, it has to, like... _interest_ you. Right?”

Sid has been discovering that he’s oblivious a lot of the time, but he knows what Flower’s implying, and it’s baseless. “I mean, just because we’re both—”

“Not _just_ because,” Flower interrupts. “I don’t know, maybe you should think about it a little bit. And I’ll see you in a few weeks, so if you’re still thinking, we talk then.”

Sid sighs. “Alright. I’m more worried about what a catastrophe it was when he said it. But yeah, I’ll...think, I guess.”

 

\---

 

So Sid thinks about what happened. And when Sid thinks about it after the fact, he’s extremely thankful it was just Olli at the table with them. Olli would never say anything to anyone, which is crucial because Sid is realizing in retrospect that there’s absolutely no good explanation for why he was so un-chill about Geno being gay. Sid himself is not even sure why he reacted the way he did. Out of all people on the team, Geno should be able to trust Sid the most with that information— he thought he _had_ trusted Sid with that information a long time ago.

It’s just that Sid thought all this time that he was the only gay person on the team. And now it turns out that he’s...what, the only _other_ gay person on the team?

It doesn’t fit with his experience. Sid has spent years watching his teammates hook up, date, get married, stumble upon it all with excruciating ease. Sid has also spent years rising above the ugly instinct to be bitter about not having the same things. Because exactly like Geno said, it’s hard to meet people when you’re a professional hockey player who likes men.

All the acceptance Sid had to do, all the trusting that he’d eventually find someone one day, maybe after he retired or something, well. Sid did that alone. Sid did that thoroughly and completely by himself, because he was the only one, no one else could understand, and, and.

Meanwhile there’s been someone he could have talked to, could have related to, right here this entire time. If he’d only been listening.

 

\---

 

Sid probably owes Geno an apology. A real apology, better than one mumbled insincerely to the tune of a worn-out country hit, delivered two seconds before a hasty departure. Sid can’t imagine getting that kind of reaction from someone who’s supposed to be like him, who’s supposed to understand. He can't forget that he's Geno's captain too, which makes it all ten times worse.

Geno hasn’t been avoiding him, per se, but he hasn’t been hanging around either. This is extremely noticeable because Geno is always hanging around Sid. They’re always hanging around each other. And when they’re not, there are emails and texts, the kind with no comprehensible thread or set topic that you keep up with a long-time friend, someone you never need to explain yourself to.

Those don’t light up Sid’s phone anymore.

Consequently, Sid has to tackle the situation head-on. He corners Geno after a charity thing that’s just them, signing jerseys to send to the children’s hospital. The whole ordeal makes Sid emotional and contrite to begin with, so then is as good a time as any to shove aside his pride. Geno is fishing around in his bag for the keys to his flashy Porsche, and Sid approaches him with his game face on.

Geno must see him coming, because he poorly conceals a wide-eyed cringe like he knows he’s about to get a talking-to and it’s one he’s been trying to dodge. Then he determinedly buries his focus back in his bag, an ostrich with his head in the sand. Like that could deter Sid on a mission.

“Hey,” Sid starts, clearing his throat and checking their surroundings to make sure there are no eavesdroppers. “I wanted to apologize to you. For how I handled it, back in Nashville.”

“It’s fine, Sid,” Geno dismisses, just like Sid thought he would. Geno, for all his passion, bluster, and volume, can be skittish about apologies, both giving and receiving. He tends to prefer forgiving and forgetting, hopefully without ever having to talk things through in English. Sid gets it, because he’s the same way at times, but this is important.

“It’s not really, though. I’m the last person who should be making you feel uncomfortable in a situation like that. I’m sorry I did.”

Geno looks him in the eye for the first time all day, smiles just briefly. “Okay. It’s good,” he assures Sid, and this time it seems real. “See you tomorrow, ah? We take down Jets.”

“Yeah. We’ll crush ‘em.”

Geno puts a hand on Sid’s shoulder before he leaves, just like he always does.

 

\---

 

So Geno is gay. Geno is gay, and Sid knows this now, logically. Everyone is aware, Sid is aware too, and it’s fine.

The thing Sid’s not prepared for is seeing it in action. Now that he’s paying attention, it’s somewhat obvious. It's hard to fathom that Sid could have missed it at all.

They’re out after a game in Toronto. They lost, but the guys love being in the city so much that they always end up going out after games there. It’s home to a few of them, specifically Oleksiak, who’s new and played against his hometown team as a Penguin for the first time tonight. They all go to his favorite club as a welcome gesture. Sid can't believe he still has to go to clubs at his age, but so it goes.

Toronto is a big city. There’s lots going on. The young guys are drunker than they probably should be, and there’s a dude, like, talking to Geno. Or maybe Geno’s talking to him. Whoever he is seems normal, somewhat good-looking if forgettable. He’s sandy-haired, muscular but in the goes-to-the-gym way, not the is-a-professional-athlete way. He has a hand on Geno’s elbow, and Geno flashes him that playful grin.

When Sid looks back five minutes later, they’re both gone.

Sid retreats to his hotel room feeling restless and agitated. It’s a weird mood. He hasn’t had anything to drink, so he can’t blame it on that. As he collapses onto the bed, he can’t help but think about how Geno must be falling back onto one as well, but with a body on top of him. Or maybe they’re in a bathroom stall or a back alley, unable to wait long enough to get somewhere private. Sid doesn’t _think_ Geno would do that, but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Geno’s like during sex, if he’s as open and free with his pleasure as he is during hockey, or if he gets shy and embarrassed about what turns him on. What does turn him on? Is that guy blowing him right now? Is that guy fucking him right now?

Sid has to quit that line of thought because his cock is twitching faintly and that’s just, no, Flower is not right about this.

But…he also can’t deny that he’s possibly both turned on and pissed off. He thinks about all the times Geno’s mentioned in passing that he was going on a date, all the times he’s tried to cover up obvious hickeys in the dressing room. All along, it was men he was seeing, men leaving marks on him. Sid’s mind is whirring again at the thought that this entire time, Geno was just walking around, liking guys.

 _Sid_ is a guy, he thinks wildly.

That qualifies him, now, instead of disqualifying him. And Sid has just been blindly stumbling through life, going to Geno first with his free time and his problems and his friendship, assuming that’s all it could ever be. He’s let himself think he needed some _other guy_. He’s been letting Geno think that he needs _other guys_ , guys who aren’t Sid.

When really, Sid could step up and be all that. If Geno would let him, Sid could sit next to Geno on the plane, net a hat trick to win the game, fuck him hard enough to get the bedframe shaking, _and_ make him breakfast the next morning.

That sounds pretty good to Sid. It’s just an idea.

 

\---

 

Sid decides not to do anything about it at first. Because, well, it only recently crossed his mind that he and Geno could be something more than what they are. Sid doesn’t want to start something, realize it was crazy, change his mind, and have to back out and ruin everything. Or worse, he doesn’t want to make a move, get completely rejected, and ruin everything that way. It’s best for now if he just sits on it.

The issue with that plan is that Geno’s not sitting on anything. He’s not disrupting his life, and he’s certainly not waiting for Sid in any capacity. He’s just going about his normal routines like nothing has changed. Which he’s able to do, because for him, it hasn’t.

Regrettably for Sid, hooking up every so often is included in Geno’s normal routines. Sid suppresses the uncomfortable thought that Geno doesn’t seem to have as much trouble meeting people as he said he did. It doesn’t happen a lot, but Sid sits on his ass and does nothing about wanting Geno for long enough to witness him go home with two more dudes—and that’s just what Sid’s privy to. It drives him nuts to think about whether he’s missing his chance, whether the next guy Geno takes home will end up staying forever.

Fuck waiting. Sid has to throw his hat into the ring.

He has to show Geno that he’s a viable option, that not only does he _want_ Geno, he _likes_ Geno. That he has a lot to offer, and he can prove himself. That he plans on being good to Geno, the way he deserves.

 

\---

 

The next time Sid goes out with the guys, he’s half-tempted to just turn it on, muster up as much charm as he can and turn the full force of it on Geno. But he doesn’t want it to seem like he’s not serious, or like he only wants something for one night, to try it once and be done. He wants it for as long as he can have it, if Geno might give it to him at all. The thought has crawled into his mind and taken root.

And Geno is just across the pub, the same hole in the wall they usually go to. Something Tanger’s said has made him laugh, face openly happy and appealing. Sid feels desire that had never been there before unfurl deep in his stomach as he watches Geno swipe a hand over his stubble. When they’d been younger Sid might never have even thought about this. In the first few years after Geno came over from Russia he was awkward and round-cheeked, had a face that got blotchy with color easily. He’d been kind of goofy-looking, although maybe so was Sid at that age.

But now, Geno’s eyes are sure and the splay of his body leaning up against the bar counter is devil-may-care nonchalance, rather than too-long limbs and no place to put them. He’s grinning wide. A smile like that is one in a million.

Sid’s not sure if he’s looking at a whole new person or if he’d just never allowed himself to consider what was there all along.

He needs another beer, so he might as well join Geno and Tanger by the bar. “Look who it is,” Tanger says when Sid reaches them.

“Just Sid. Not so exciting,” Geno responds, tongue creeping between his teeth in a teasing smile.

Well, that’s a ringing endorsement. “Hey!” says Sid, indignant, but Geno’s had a years-long habit of poking fun at Sid and then pretending he didn’t say anything so hard he ends up completely ignoring all speech that comes afterward. He’s already innocently staring off into the distance.

That won’t do. “You’re a bully tonight, eh?” Sid tells Geno, light-hearted. He moves in closer, turns into him till Geno’s arm is brushing his chest.

“You’re too sensitive,” Geno answers, and Sid can’t help a laugh.

Geno has to duck his head to hear Sid come back with, “That’s not the worst thing in the world,” right into his ear. Sid’s nose is approaching the warm hollow of his throat now. It feels good to just be this near him. Sid relaxes into it as Geno props an arm up on the bar behind him.

Sid has pretty much forgotten Tanger’s presence if he’s honest, so it’s jarring when he speaks up. “Oh, is this finally happening with you two?” he crows, unsubtle as anything.

Sid’s gaze shoots straight to Geno to check his reaction, and of course, Geno’s whipped around to look at Sid with the same jolted expression, eyes wide and caught like _wait a minute, is it?_ And that’s a lot to handle all at once, Sid can’t tell quite what Geno’s thinking, but maybe now is the time, should he go for it? Or should he give Geno space?

Sid stumbles a step backward, and Geno’s face darkens. He turns around to face into the bar, hides himself in the order of another drink. He hasn’t moved much, but Sid might as well be across the room from him now.

Sid throws an unimpressed look at Tanger, who shrugs his apology for ruining the moment and withdraws into the larger crowd of the team.

A sigh falls ungracefully out of Sid’s mouth. He glances at Geno again, who takes his new beer from the bartender and peers out around the room. Maybe Sid should just say something now, avoid all confusion and make things clear between them, so that even if Geno doesn’t feel the same way, at least he’ll _know_.

He considers Geno’s long body pressing all up against his just a minute ago. Geno very well could feel the same way. It’s not that unreasonable.

He’ll go to the bathroom, take a piss, summon his composure, and come back out to make things right.

He does that. But when he emerges, Geno’s moved to a different spot and is entrenched in conversation with a man Sid has never seen before.

Ridiculous. And just Sid’s fucking luck.

He skulks over to where Phil is lurking in the opposite corner, a better vantage point from which to keep watch. “Who is that?” he asks Phil, nodding over at Geno and the person he’s with.

Phil glances away from the TV he’s entranced by, where football highlights are playing on a loop with blocky subtitles obscuring too much of the screen. “Oh, I dunno. Think Geno left with him last time we were here too.” He shrugs. “I don’t think you were around, man. But I’ll tell ya, I don’t get it. Dude’s got just terrible hair. But I mean, me too, right?” He cuts a squawking laugh, and then focuses back on the TV.

Sid tries to watch the screen too, but he’s unable to stop himself from looking back at Geno. Sid keeps shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s not the sort of asshole who would _go over there_. What’s he going to do, piss on Geno like a dog trying to mark territory that isn’t even his? But he also can’t watch it happen right in front of him. He pulls out his phone, scrolls aimlessly through his old texts with Flower, seeing but not reading them. Opens and closes a few apps. Puts it back in his pocket.

Okay, actually, Sid is the sort of asshole who would go over there. He’s going over there now, his feet moving without having asked his logic for permission.

“There you are, Geno,” Sid uses to reinitiate himself, giving the stranger a smile and a nod.

“Sid,” Geno acknowledges neutrally, almost as if the whole weird bit before Sid went to the bathroom didn’t happen, or happened too long ago for Geno to consider it the present. “This Devon.”

“Hey, man,” Devon says, offering his hand. Sid shakes it as firmly as he can get away with. This guy is about exactly as tall as Geno, which means he’s got a fair few inches on Sid, but Sid refuses to be intimidated. He’s faced down guys almost a foot taller than him on the ice, and remained unmoved.

“We’re maybe just leave,” Geno continues.

Devon breaks into a grin. “Great, just gotta close my tab. Be right back.”

He heads over to the bartender. Sid will only have a minute or two. He steps in to get Geno’s attention. “Geno,” his voice quavers, and he knows Geno catches the urgency in his tone, completely new. He wraps a few fingers around the bones of Geno’s wrist, brushes the knobbiest part with his thumb.

“What happen, Sid?” Geno is leaning toward him again, concern evident on his unique features. His speech patterns mean Sid doesn’t know if he’s asking _what happened_ or _what’s happening_ , but they’re the same thing anyway. Sid’s been falling for Geno, and he still is right now.

He takes a breath. “If I asked you to stay, to not go home with that guy. Would you stay?” Sid asks him, feeling desperate and untamed. He’s clenching his teeth, hoping for an answer that tells him something, but the grip that he keeps on Geno’s wrist is loose and gentle.

Geno’s forehead scrunches up, showcasing confusion that Sid supposes is fair. “Can’t make decide for me, Sid.”

“Right,” Sid nods. “But if you knew that I wanted you to…?”

Geno blinks as he processes. His tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip as his brain cranks visibly and furiously. Sid’s not sure he sees Geno settle on a thought or emotion before Devon is back, his hand brushing over Geno’s bicep. “Ready to go?” He asks, glancing the question down at where Sid is holding Geno.

Sid releases him. Now is not the time anymore, but it will be soon, and Sid has some explaining to do. “I’ll come over and talk to you tomorrow, okay? Have fun,” he tells Geno, and is surprised to find that he means it. This Devon guy will be gone in the morning, while Sid has a permanent spot next to Geno in the dressing room, on the bench. No matter what Geno says tomorrow, that doesn’t change.

Geno follows Devon away. But he keeps looking back at Sid over his shoulder on the long walk to the door.

 

\---

 

A shirt, a warm hat, a pair of jeans. A coat, a scarf, two pairs of socks. Sid dresses himself methodically for the cold the next day. Geno’s house isn’t that far, and it’s not like Sid will be outside for long, but he’s learned not to underestimate a Pittsburgh winter wind chill.

He’s wasted away as much of the day as he possibly could before texting Geno, trying to give him time and not be overbearing. Turns out ‘as much as he possibly could’ is just enough to put him past noon. It’s then that he sends, _I’m coming over._

He knows the gate code, so Geno probably isn’t even aware Sid’s there until he’s ringing the actual doorbell. Geno has a loud, classic doorbell that sends _ding dong_ reverberating throughout the caverns of his house. He’d tried to explain, one time, why it made him happy; he’d never had a doorbell as a young kid growing up in their cramped _Khrushchyovka_ apartment, identical to every single one in the city, as the Soviet Union crumbled before his parents’ eyes. Sid caught onto the vocabulary words, but not the deeper wistfulness that must come with being raised having little but hardly feeling bad for yourself, because everyone else in town had just as little. It’s not like Sid was filthy rich growing up, but he knows he could probably never relate on the same level. Still, it’s why he can never begrudge Geno the ostentatious architecture and the conspicuous cars and the frankly ridiculous driveway statues. And besides, he knows what Geno really does with his money. He buys out a suite in the arena so underprivileged kids can see hockey games. He deposits it directly into the bank account of a childhood teammate whose wife desperately needs cancer treatment. He offers it up, dollar bills from his pockets and into the hands of friends, strangers, vagabonds.

And Sid loves that. He always—

Geno opens the door.

“Hi Sid, come in.” He steps back to let Sid through. Sid treads cautiously into Geno’s hallway, looking around himself like he’s nervous that other guy might still be here, but he’s obviously not. Sid takes off his hat, his scarf. Geno seems calm. Maybe, for once, he’s actually prepared to have a fleshed-out, serious conversation. About feelings. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that’s what Sid is here for.

They pass through the kitchen on the way to the living room, and Geno ends up making himself tea before they take a seat on the sectional. “How was the rest of your night?” Sid starts slowly, while Geno’s blowing into a flowery teacup that seems disproportionately tiny and dainty in his large grip. It looks like something his mother gave him.

“Good,” Geno replies. He sets the cup down on the coffee table, scratches at his head behind his ear. There’s a light red mark high on the column of his throat, like somebody had their mouth there. It’ll fade within the day. “It’s...Sid, it’s really what you want talk about?”

Sid takes a shuddering breath. “You can spare me the details, I guess. But it kind of is.”

“Okay.”

“Basically...I just…” Sid cuts himself off with a sharp exhale. Doing this right is essential. “Maybe you could kind of tell what’s up. A lot has changed recently, for me, at least, and I feel differently now about…about certain things—”

“ _Sid_ ,” Geno begs, either desperate to confirm that Sid’s saying what he thinks he is or just fed up with Sid fumbling his words in general. Sid should spit it out, one way or another.

“I don’t want to see you leave bars with other people,” Sid comes out with, and Geno’s mouth drops open just slightly but his expression doesn’t change, as if he knew what was coming but is still somehow surprised by it. “I don’t like hearing you talk about dates your friends set you up on, and I hate thinking about you trying to find someone else.”

Geno blinks, lets out a rush of breath. For a moment, Sid wonders if he’ll ask why. But then he’s picked it up without Sid even having to say it, because he takes a moment to process, and then he looks Sid right in the eye. “These things...it’s like, things I did already. Can’t change it now. Can’t say sorry, won’t mean it.”

“I know,” Sid nods. “You shouldn’t have to. I’m not asking for that.” He scoots closer to Geno, fingers picking at the textured fabric of the sofa. There’s no point in being anything less than direct about how he feels anymore. There’s no way to know what you can have unless you _try_. Trying is all Sid knows how to do. And Geno deserves to hear it in full. “I’m asking if I could take you home. If I could take you out. I know it might...be weird to think about, at first. I don’t know if you’ve ever considered it before. But it’s all I’ve been thinking about lately, and I want it. Have you—have you ever thought about being with me?”

Everything hangs on that one precipice. It’s a moment that could make or break them.

Fortunately, it goes like this:

“Of course,” Geno blurts, and Sid’s breath catches. “You kidding? When I come out years ago, I’m doing it because of you, Sid. I’m know I’m interested men for long time, but think it’s private, it’s not need to share with anyone. But when I understand I want you, I know I have to tell for sure.” He thunks his head back against the top of the couch, like what comes next in the story is particularly pathetic, but Sid’s blood is racing. He can’t tell whether this ends with Geno still wanting him or Geno telling him to get lost because he missed his chance without knowing it the better part of a decade ago. Geno goes on, “I’m hope maybe you say something, if you know. But you never do. And now I know, like, it’s because you not really know.”

“Then your plan worked exactly how you wanted it to,” Sid tries. “Just with an unexpected delay?”

Then Geno peeks at Sid again. “So. Yes, of course I’m think about you. But when nothing happen, I’m forget about it. Date other guys, spend time just me, it’s all fine. I’m let go.”

Sid trembles through a swallow. “What you’re saying is that it’s too late.” If that’s the case, there’s nothing Sid can do to change it. It might take him time to accept, but there’s no arguing with it now.

But then, impossibly: “No, no, I’m only explain,” Geno soothes. He angles himself toward Sid and lays a hand half on top of his, tentative and torturously slow. “Loved you for so long time,” he confesses, true to his honesty and candidness about the most important things. “But never expect this, not spend years hoping. Maybe it’s good, now. I’m think maybe it can work because like, I’m not wait for you, you know? I can’t be mad you take forever to feel same way.”

“And I do,” Sid has to reiterate, clumsily weaving a finger through the gap between two of Geno's. “I do feel, you know, the same way.” They just kind of look at each other then. Geno’s thick lower lip is twitching, like he might want to smile. Sid could be so much closer to him. “Could I…?” He makes an aborted attempt to ask for permission that has Geno’s eyes narrowing incredulously, so he takes his fate in hand and swings a leg over the other side of Geno’s hips to scramble into his lap. It’s awkward and imperfect but it gets the job done, and Geno’s hands must come up to his waist on instinct. His face is just inches away. Sid should kiss him, do something, but he’s too busy worrying if they’re alright so far.

Geno is alright. Geno rests a palm over the left side of Sid’s chest, fingers spread wide. And his hand is so big, it—he could hold all of Sid’s heart in it. So Sid won’t lose his nerve now.

When they kiss, it moves like molasses. Sid can feel all of it, Geno’s nose brushing his, a soft squeeze to his hip, the wind coming in through the windows Geno leaves open no matter the weather. It really, really doesn’t matter if Geno was kissing someone else only hours ago. That’s long gone, now. And Geno has the same lips, the same body, the same heart, no matter how many people have touched them before Sid.

“Good?” Geno asks, when he can again.

“This is good,” Sid whispers back. He tucks his face into Geno’s neck, a kiss for his pulse. “This is so good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here's [Jack Johnson accosting girls about how Sid was going to be the number 1 draft pick, and wouldn't they date him because of that?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TB8a03tsW50) I'm sure you already know all about the Claude/Sid [wrist](https://www.sportsnet.ca/hockey/nhl/claude-giroux-sidney-crosby-wrist-injury-flyers-penguins) [drama](https://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/sidney-crosby-didn-t-try-break-claude-giroux-203944352--nhl.html) that my cheesby ass dropped in at the first available opportunity. Also, the famed [round table segment.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFDh0c1oCUs#t=9m58s)
> 
> Linked [here](http://www.post-gazette.com/sports/olympics/2014/02/09/Evgeni-Malkin-A-Russian-tale-with-roots-founded-in-ice-and-iron/stories/201402090133) is a wonderful article (which most people in the fandom have already read, I know) that discusses Geno's upbringing in Magnitogorsk, his badass escape to play in the NHL, and the thing about the cancer treatment. And [here](https://www.nhl.com/penguins/news/another-side-of-geno/c-627039) is mention of Geno buying out a suite for kids to watch the Pens in 2011/2012 among other various humanitarian endeavors; I don't know if he does any similar thing now. [Sid himself still does](https://www.nhl.com/penguins/news/sidney-crosby-purchases-suite-for-charities/c-496262), though.
> 
> If you want, follow me on tumblr at [quickxotic](http://quickxotic.tumblr.com)! I like making friends as much as anyone else.


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